


Sanctuary

by museaway



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Canon Universe, Canon typical injuries, Church Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, First Aid, Gorgeous fanart by thunderjellyfish, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, hunter husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 18:04:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3905725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wanted to explain, to make Dean understand—humans were so fragile, Dean was so <em>fragile</em>—but what he said was, "Kiss me. Please."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> When thunderjellyfish asked if I'd like to write a fic to accompany [her beautiful drawing](http://thunderjellyfish.tumblr.com/post/118116074757/no-masters-or-kings-when-the-ritual-begins-there), I was terribly flattered (I flailed). This can be read as a standalone, set at an ambiguous point diverged from the S10 canon universe (Cas is human and the MoC isn't present). It can also be read as a [Fireflies timestamp](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2375327/chapters/5246723). 
> 
> Once upon a time I went to Catholic high school and fell in love with church and cathedral architecture. It was nice to revisit that for this story, but since I am no expert, I beg that you forgive any mistakes. 
> 
> Thank you to 51st and spncancercare for beta reading, and to K.A. Graves for replying to my frantic text messages for plot assistance.
> 
>  **Caution:** If the idea of two people being intimate in an abandoned church is offensive to you, do not read.

_art by thunderjellyfish [[x](http://thunderjellyfish.tumblr.com/post/118116074757/no-masters-or-kings-when-the-ritual-begins-there)]_

 

 

"Dean?"

Castiel shoved the arched door with his shoulder, wincing where it pressed against his wound. He was bleeding, his shirt and coat soaked through, but that didn't matter. The wound was hardly life-threatening and Dean could be dying.

Sam had traced Dean's phone to this location, so Castiel would search every inch of it. The door groaned open on rusted hinges. He held his breath and listened for signs of life.

The church was long abandoned, ceiling partially collapsed to reveal the darkening sky. Dirt and rodent waste covered the floor. The interior smelled damp, the humid air sweet with mildew. He crossed the entry at a brisk pace.

At the entrance to the nave, a figure stood on a pedestal, swathed in flowing fabric. It had one wing and no head. Castiel put a hand on the wall to sidestep a broken piece of the statue. Plaster crumbled underneath his fingertips and rained to the wood floor. The sound echoed through the hollow space.

He called Dean's name again but no one answered. Dean wasn't back at the motel, so he had to be here. Castiel wouldn't rest until he found him, until he could put his hands on Dean and know, not believe but _know_ that Dean was safe.

He walked the path between sagging wood pews, stretched on either side of him like great, broken wings. The aisle ended at a communion table. It was a wide stone slab underneath the east wall. The wall bore the faded outline of a cross.

Wind moaned through the broken stained glass windows, looming sentinels flanking the altar. It stirred the debris, scattering it at his feet. Castiel shivered and the wind died down.

Behind the altar, something disturbed the leaves—the movement was too big to be a rat. The hair on the back of Castiel's neck stood up. He gripped the iron blade more tightly in case the third witch was still alive—he and Sam had taken care of the other two, but not before one struck him—and shined his flashlight behind the altar.

Dean lay on his side, gagged and bound at the wrists and ankles. He appeared unconscious, but he was breathing—Castiel could see the rise and fall of his back. He gasped Dean's name in relief and dropped to his knees, using the knife to cut through the bindings. The fabric left Dean's skin red from compression but not chafed like rope would. It was something.

He removed the cloth from Dean's mouth and turned him onto his back, brushing dirt from his cheek and murmuring his name. He rubbed at the reddened skin on Dean's wrists.

After a few seconds, Dean opened an eye.

"Hey."

"Hey," said Castiel.

"Where's Sam?"

"At the motel, in case you were on your way. When you didn't meet us back at the room, he traced your phone to this location."

"Nerd," Dean grunted, struggling to sit up. There was dirt in his hair and on his face. "The sonofabitch got the jump on me. Bet he's out of town by now."

He pulled out his phone. The screen was cracked but the phone was still functional. He thumbed through his contacts and dialed Sam's number.

"Hey," Dean said when Sam picked up. Castiel could hear the excited rush of his voice. "Yeah, he's with me. Cas, say hi."

Dean thrust the phone toward him. Castiel lowered his mouth to the speaker.

"Hello, Sam."

Sam chuckled. "Hey, Cas. Dean, what happened? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, just minus a couple pints," Dean continued, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder. "We'll head back in a few. You need anything?"

Castiel thought while they spoke. It would be best to take care of Dean's injuries before the car ride back, and Castiel was certain he needed medical attention as well. He laid a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I'll be right back," he said quietly, so as not to interrupt the conversation, and ducked out to the car for the bag of medical supplies and spare clothing. In his haste, he'd left the headlights on. He switched them off and took a bottle of water from the back seat.

Dean was off the phone when he returned, cradling his arm against his chest.

"Guess they thought I still had demon mojo," he joked, but his voice was laced with exhaustion. Castiel wondered how much blood they had taken, how pale Dean would look if they stood in daylight. "So much for an easy case."

Castiel handed him the water. Dean guzzled it while Castiel scanned the room for a place to sit, but nowhere was clean. He brushed off the altar and spread his coat on top of it. It would have to do.

"Can you stand?" he asked. Dean dried his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Yeah."

He set down the bottle. Castiel pulled him to his feet, but once he was upright, Dean swatted him away and climbed onto the altar himself. Castiel gingerly removed Dean's jacket and shirt. Dean gritted his teeth as the fabric stuck to the six-inch gash on his forearm.

"I'm sorry," Castiel offered.

He balled up the shirt and held it against the gash to slow the bleeding, but it soaked through. He tore open an alcohol wipe with his teeth and quickly cleaned the cut.

"Do you need stitches?" he asked, frowning at his own lack of first-aid knowledge, but Dean shook his head.

"Just wrap it up tight."

"What if it doesn't stop bleeding?"

"Sammy can stitch me up. He can show you how."

Castiel hesitated, but after a pause he nodded and began to wind the gauze around Dean's arm. The gash continued to bleed, creating a dark spot on the gauze. He kissed it uselessly.

Dean flexed his fingers and pointed to dried blood on his neck.

"They tried to stick me there first."

Castiel raised an eyebrow but cleaned the blood away and affixed a bandage.

"Tried?"

"I bit him," Dean explained, shrugging one shoulder, but he was grinning.

"What about your legs?"

"Are you trying to get me naked?"

Castiel sighed and rubbed his forehead. Sometimes he barely tolerated Dean's methods of deflection. It was more difficult now that he was human.

"Take off your pants," he ordered.

"Quid pro quo," Dean told him as he unbuttoned his fly, then added in a more serious tone, "you're bleeding."

Castiel couldn't exactly argue. He removed his tie and shirt, holding his breath when he pulled the fabric away from his side. It began to bleed freely, running hot down his skin. He stepped out of his pants and lay them on the altar.

"Shit," Dean swore when he saw the blood, opening the bag and coming up with a needle and surgical thread.

"Is it that bad?" Castiel asked, raising his arm so he could examine the gash. Now that he wasn't worried for Dean, he was aware of the throbbing, of the sharp pain when he moved.

"I need you to hold still," Dean commanded. He poured alcohol over his hands and used a wipe to clean Castiel's side and shoulder. He bit down on the flashlight and threaded the needle.

Castiel took a sharp breath when it first pricked his skin. It stung. He could bear that, but the sensation of string pulling through his skin turned his stomach. He angled his head away and counted the unbroken panes of glass in the windows.

Seven, eight, nine—no, that one was cracked at the corner. He could see the sky, almost black now. He could see the stars.

"They got you good," Dean said. He was trying to keep his voice even, but Castiel discerned anger and worry.

"Sam isn't injured," he said to shift the attention from himself.

"Sam can take care of himself," Dean mumbled, pulling the thread taut. "You're not used to this."

Castiel hissed at the discomfort and set his jaw. "If you can do this, so can I."

"I didn't say I want you to stop, just—if anything happened to you, man, I'd never forgive myself."

Castiel relaxed at the declaration and kept his hands on his lap, silent while Dean finished. He wrapped gauze around the injury to Castiel's shoulder and set the supplies aside. He sat heavily next to him.

"We make quite a pair, huh?"

Castiel touched Dean's good arm.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine, just need to sit here a couple minutes, get my sea legs back. You got anything to eat?"

Castiel shook his head.

"We'll stop on the way back to the motel," Dean decided. He leaned forward over his knees and closed his eyes, taking deep, even breaths.

The silence that fell over the church was overbearing. Castiel felt impotent. Dean was injured and had lost a great deal of blood, and Castiel was powerless to do anything about it. If he'd been much later, if Sam hadn't been able to trace the phone, if the door had been cursed shut—he had no way to revive Dean if he lost him again.

A cry broke from his mouth. He clapped a hand over it and moaned into his palm.

Dean's arms came around him.

"I'm fine," he murmured, pressing his lips to Castiel's temple and holding there. Dean's arms shook, but Castiel sunk into them. He brought his arms up around Dean's neck and kissed him.

"I was frightened," he confessed against his mouth. Dean nodded and traced a thumb over Castiel's cheek, where it didn't hurt.

"I'm scared shitless every time you leave the bunker."

Castiel cried freely now, from a combination of relief and pain. Dean arranged them so they lay curled together on the stone. The coat didn't add much comfort, but it was clean, except for the blood. He'd need a new one unless Dean could repair the foot-long slice down the side.

"Am I going to Hell for this?" Dean asked, nuzzling Castiel's throat.

"For what?"

"Getting naked with an angel in a church."

Castiel snorted and wiped his eyes.

"Sorry," Dean added, kissing his neck. "Nervous humor."

"No, I don't think you'll go to Hell for this," Castiel said anyway.

He couldn't pull Dean from Hell again, didn't even have a soul to barter. The fear that dwelled in him was almost unbearable.

"I can feel you thinking," Dean murmured against his shoulder. "You're all tense."

Castiel opened his mouth. He wanted to explain, to make Dean understand—humans were so fragile, Dean was so _fragile_ —but what he said was, "Kiss me. Please."

Dean did—a kiss that was sweet and reassuring and possessive. He cupped Castiel's jaw and kept his eyes closed. It was like their first kiss in the kitchen, crowded up against the sink. Castiel's hands found Dean's chest and side and held tight. Dean slid a hand into Castiel's hair to anchor their mouths together.

His heart beat steadily under Castiel's palm.

Dean sucked in a breath and lowered his mouth to Castiel's chest, kissing his sternum, just above his navel, sucking a mark onto the skin above his pubic hair. And then Dean's mouth was wet and hot on his cock, and Castiel canted his hips to meet him. He combed fingers through Dean's hair and breathed his name into the empty room.

A tug brought Dean's face back up to his, so he could lick the taste of himself from Dean's mouth. It was pure. Holy. He kissed Dean until he couldn't taste it anymore.

Dean settled on top of him, mindful of Castiel's side, his body a warm and perfect weight. Castiel ran his hands up and down Dean's back and kissed him until he was drowsy.

"Hey, no falling asleep," Dean said, kissing the corner of his mouth. "You're driving."

"Alright," said Castiel as he closed his eyes.

"Come on," Dean coaxed, taking his right hand. He rubbed the ring, Dean's ring, that Castiel wore. "Sooner we get back, sooner we can get in the shower."

"You know Sam will be there," Castiel said with his eyes closed.

"He won't be in the _shower_."

Dean pecked Castiel's cheek and sat up. The church was cold without Dean lying against him, so Castiel begrudgingly sat up too.

They dressed without speaking and went out to the car. Castiel had left the keys in the ignition. He started the engine while Dean slung the medical supplies into the back and climbed in the passenger's door. He reclined the seat and didn't bother with a seat belt.

"This car's ugly, but damn, is it comfortable," he said as he stretched out his legs.

Castiel smirked. "Thank you for your approval," he said and switched on the radio before shifting into reverse. It was tuned to a classical station but Dean didn't complain, bobbing his head lightly in time with the music. He shivered, so Castiel put on the heat and guided the Continental from the weedy parking lot.

"You okay?" Dean asked after a while, reaching over to pat Castiel's leg. Castiel didn't answer. He laid a hand on top of Dean's and squeezed.

"Where should we stop for food?"

"There's a place not far from the motel."

"Alright."

He gripped Dean's hand tight as they waited in the drive through, crammed around the table eating burgers with Sam in the motel room, beneath the halo of shower spray.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Art Post](http://thunderjellyfish.tumblr.com/post/118116074757/no-masters-or-kings-when-the-ritual-begins-there)   
>  [Fic & art post](http://www.museaway.com/post/118526573630/sanctuary-destiel)


End file.
